


The Soul Remembers

by Talizora



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wings, Angst, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Explicit Sexual Content, HIATUS November challenge submission, Immortality, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not tagging spoilers, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Character Death, in future chapters, slow burn sherlock holmes/john watson, this will have a happy ending I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 07:04:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talizora/pseuds/Talizora
Summary: For more than an age, Sherlock thought being exiled was the worst misery he could endure. He wraps his suffering around himself like wings and retreats to his mind and its regrets. With the discovery of his soulmate, Sherlock quickly learns that true sorrow has a mortal form...





	The Soul Remembers

**Author's Note:**

> Terms:  
> Mazin (MAY-zin) = Immortal beings from the High Realm.  
> Rahil (rah-HEEL) = Mortals, beings from the Middle Realm Basically Earth).  
> Nahu (NAH-who) = Beings from the Under Realm, AKA those that have been exiled from the High Realm due to treason or mutiny and Cursed.
> 
> Lamahya (LA-may-yah) = High Realm where the Mazin live  
> Vunahhil (voo-nah-HEEL) = Middle Realm where the Rahil live  
> Nolmavu (noel-may-VOO) = Under Realm where the Nahu live

“If I do this for you brother…”

Sherlock's jaw clenched, his incisors ached with the pressure. Mycroft was throwing his request in his face, as usual. You never received something without payment when the eldest Holmes sibling was involved. 

“Yes, yes… I’ll owe you a boon. I know how this exchange works  _ Mycroft _ .” Sherlock hissed, his large black wings rustled in agitation behind him.

Mycroft grinned, “Not just a boon, dear brother. You have asked me to bring forth your heartmate. It will cost you more than a simple favour in return.” 

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, he needed to be careful. Being related by blood meant nothing to the trickster Nahu. It wouldn’t be a good idea to accept an exchange if he didn’t know the price. “What is it that you want then?”

Mycroft's dark eyes shifted focus beyond Sherlock's face to his feathered wings. The movement caused the bottom of Sherlock’s stomach to drop and an icy chill to spread throughout his chest.

“No,” Sherlock growled.

“It is only fair payment, dearest brother.”

“You lost your wings on your own,  _ brother _ .” Sherlock stepped back, putting more distance between himself and his kin. “I won’t have you squander mine to your obsession with that Mazin mate of yours.”

Mycroft’s chest rumbled, the white shirt he wore did a poor job of hiding the deep orange glow of the liquid fire that had built up during their argument. “Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock! Until you have loved your mate as I do, you will never understand the lengths I will go just to see him again. I would take everything from you, brother, if it would get me one moment of time to spend with my beloved.”

“You’re a moron Mycroft! Love has made you blind!” 

“And yet… You have still come to me. Begging me to call forth your own mate. Don’t be so judgemental before you know to whom your heart belongs.”

Sherlock huffed and glared down at his feet. Could he give up his wings? They were all that was left of his previous life… Before he fell from Lamahya and gave into The Spiders corruption. Before he became one of the Nahu. Cursed to live a half-life, no longer belonging to the High Realm. A creature to forever remain in shades of grey. 

“Fine.” Sherlock snapped, “I accept your terms, you may have my wings as payment.”

* * *

The summoning circle was prepared however, Mycroft had yet to take his payment. He was sure Mycroft would at least wait until the spell was complete and Sherlock knew who his heartmate was. He hoped he would not be subjected to the same fate as his brother, to love a Mazin while he was Cursed. To never become one-flesh with the other half of your soul... The universe was a cruel mistress.

The runes and markings began to hum with energy as Mycroft initiated the ritual. He started chanting, calling forth the powers of Nolmavu, the Under Realm, to reveal the truth of the world. To pull forth the matching half of Sherlock's tattered soul.

“You must spill your blood over the loadstone, this is the final step. Then your soul will pull its other half through time and space to this realm.” Mycroft instructed.

Sherlock could feel the power building, the spell had been cast perfectly, just like he knew it would be. His brother was a perfectionist after all. He took the knife Mycroft had given him and sliced into his left arm, the dark lifeblood flowed freely down his arm and dripped from his fingertips onto the loadstone.

The reaction was instantaneous, the spell buzzed with electrical energy seeming to grow and grow beyond anything Sherlock had ever felt before and just when it seemed like the whole world would explode, everything became silent. 

Sherlock looked towards the centre of the circle, standing there was a man. He was dressed in the traditional armour of the Rahil that called themselves Cilurnums. His blond hair and tanned skin appeared oiled to perfection. He was beautiful. All the air rushed out of Sherlock’s lungs. 

The man turned and looked at him. His eyes were a dark blue, like the ocean’s secret depths, like the night sky just before the sun's first rays. This mortal was his heartmate.

Then the pain came, the tearing of flesh and bone, the ripping of tendons and feathers. Mycroft had wasted no time in taking his payment. Sherlock screamed, this was worse than receiving the Curse, he struggled to keep his eyes open, the pain was unimaginable.

His sight grew cloudy and distorted through the tears, but he forced them to remain open. If he closed them, if he blinked, the spell would be broken and he would lose the connection to his soulmate.

“ **Tell me your name, Rahil.** ” Sherlock spoke with every ounce of strength he still possessed, pushing his magic into the words so that they became a command. 

The beauty before him fell to his knees, the force of Sherlock’s words a physical force on his fragile Rahil body.

“John.”

Sherlock’s eyes rolled and the world before him became darkness.

* * *

Sherlock woke up in the shade, hidden away from the road behind a large tree. His back ached, and he felt too light, almost like he might float away without the heavy pull of his wings. For a long time, Sherlock simply continued to lay on the grass and stare up at the cloudless blue sky.

He hadn’t considered that Mycroft might dump him in Vunahhil after their exchange. He wouldn’t be able to return to Nolmavu for at least a century. The rhythmic crunch and squeak of cartwheels drew Sherlock out of his mind. He needed to find his heartmate, after everything he had given up for a face and a name it wouldn’t do give up now. Not when he was so close.

Sherlock pulled himself to his feet and stumbled. His centre of gravity had definitely changed, it would take some time to adjust but he had no doubt that his body would re-learn how to move just as gracefully as before.

As the cart grew close to Sherlock's hiding place, he cast a glamour spell over his appearance and stepped forward to wait for the Rahil to approach. It wouldn’t do to jump out and startle them, not when he needed their guidance and perhaps even a lift if they happened to be travelling in the right direction. The elderly man driving the cart was kind enough to point Sherlock in the right direction. Unfortunately, he had just left Cilurnum, so Sherlock would be making the journey on foot.

Walking the few miles needed to reach the city was both a blessing and a curse. It enabled Sherlock to get his balance without an audience, but he was also not accustomed to having to walk such long distances. It had been several centuries since he’d been to Vunahhil, the Mortal Realm. Mazin's and Nahu's could only make the jump once every few hundred years or they would risk permanent disfigurement or even death.

During his time spent in Nolmavu, Sherlock had kept himself entertained by watching the Rahil through a looking glass. They fascinated him but he hadn’t been drawn into the game of collecting conquests or tricking Rahil’s into owing him boons. Although he had to admit his brother had amassed an impressive amount of power by playing Rahil against one another. 

Boons were a very important part of being a Nahu or Mazin. A Rahil could ask for something from a Nahu, for example, to win a battle or to become stronger and the Nahu would ask for a boon as payment. The trick was, the boon would be tied to that Rahil's soul. 

If the Rahil who made the deal died before the Nahu claimed payment that Rahil’s soul would carry the boon onto the next life and through every re-birth thereafter. Like a stain, you couldn’t wash out. Until the day the Nahu claimed their payment, perhaps they would want the Rahil’s first kiss, sight, or their ability to walk. Each boon collected would increase that aspect of the Nahu's power, their eyesight would sharpen or their strength or magic would grow stronger.

Sherlock had never fulfilled a Rahil's wish and so he’d never collected a boon. The promise of more power didn’t tempt him, instead, it was the promise of meeting his other half that had finally brought Sherlock down to the Mortal Realm. 

The city of Cilurnum was a busy place, merchants had stalls set up to sell their wares, children and women hurried around buying and trading things. Finding one Cilurnum warrior in a city this size would take some time. Sherlock would need to keep his guard up amongst these people, Cilurnum unlike many other Rahil civilisations over the years were quite keen at spotting his kind and they would not hesitate to kill him if they became aware he walked among them. 

* * *

A week later Sherlock found him. His heartmate, his John, he was just as beautiful as he’d been during the summoning ritual. Sherlock wondered if his John remembered being brought to Nolmavu or if he’d simply thought it was a strange dream and forgotten about it. Sherlock watched his other half as he walked around some younger Cilurnum men and women, he was training them to hold their shields in formation. 

John’s hair was sun bleached and greyed at his temples, his body darkly tanned from spending so much time in the sun. He had freckles splattered around his shoulders, back and arms. He kept his beard trimmed close and Sherlock had spotted several scars on his hands, arms and stomach that told tales of battles won and wars fought. 

Sherlock could feel his soul reaching out for the mortal, desperately trying to become whole once again. It knew its mate was near and just out of reach, but it wouldn’t do to startle John with so many witnesses. If Sherlock’s power was reacting this strongly while he was still several feet away there was no telling what might happen when they touched. Sherlock’s glamour spell could fall and then he’d be killed and John would continue on throughout the ages, searching for his other half and unable to find him.   

His mind made up Sherlock turned and left the training grounds, he would return that night and speak to John privately. 

* * *

John glanced up, his focus leaving his students for a moment. He could have sworn he felt something pull on the very centre of his being, something was trying to reach out to him but it was too far away. How strange, it almost felt the same as when a week ago John had had the strangest dream. 

He’d been laying in his hammock, staring up at the night sky through his window and a sharp tugging had started right in the centre of his chest. It pulled and pulled and seemed to try to yank him backwards through the floor. With a crack, the rope of his hammock snapped and he’d fell, hitting his head on the floor.

When he opened his eyes he was standing in a wide circle, strange patterns and symbols glowed around him with a supernatural energy. John pulled himself to his feet, looking around for a clue as to what was happening and why he’d suddenly been brought here. 

There was a dark presence off to the side of the circle, it looked almost like the shadow of a man except for the massive wings that sprouted from the stranger's back. Dark eyes shone back at him like a cat’s, reflecting the glow of the markings around him. The moment their eyes met John felt the pull again, a strange swooping sensation near his heart. His body seemed to scream at him to run towards the shadow, to get closer no matter the distance or the obstacle in his path. 

Then the screaming started, John tried to reach out, to touch the shadow but his feet were stuck to the floor. The stranger’s wings thrashed violently behind him, the sound of cracking bone and ripping flesh drowning out the humming of the symbols all around them.

“Tell me your name, Rahil.”

The words were so heavy, filled with power. They were a command John could not hope to disobey, so he answered. But before his lips had finished forming the letters of his name the world went black and he opened his eyes, though he can’t remember closing them, to find himself back on the floor in his room looking up at the stars. The rope on his hammock mysteriously repaired. 

* * *

John was making his way home when he felt the tugging for the third time. It was stronger than this morning, whatever was causing this strange feeling inside him was closer. He stopped walking and paused, trying to see if he could tell what direction the pull was coming from but it seemed impossible. The tugging sensation just kept wanting to pull him forwards then back like it couldn’t make up its mind.

With a sigh, John continued walking home. The tugging persisted late into the night, preventing John from sleeping. What seemed like hours after the sun had set, John decided to go for a walk. Perhaps it was restless energy and after a bit of exercise, it would go away. Once John was outside the tugging turned into buzzing. Like hundreds of bees had unexpectedly made a home inside John’s sternum, it was maddening. John rubbed at his chest, trying desperately to make the buzzing stop.

“I need to sleep.” John groaned into the night, he’d jogged and walked around his house a dozen times. “Please Mazin, if you’re listening. Look upon my suffering this night and bless me with the gift of slumber until the first light!” John prayed. He hoped the gods were listening. John rested against his front door, panting from the most recent run he’d completed when the buzzing stopped. His chest felt normal, no tugging, pulling or aching sensations. John raised his arms up to the sky and sent his thanks to whichever Mazin had granted his wish. 

* * *

Sherlock was angry with himself. He’d finally found his soulmate, the person that completed him and would forever be his companion throughout eternity and he was too shy to introduce himself. What would happen if John didn’t like him? Would he be doomed to live forever without his other half? 

He was such a fool, why had he thought that finding his mate would be a good idea? Perhaps Mycroft had been right, caring wasn’t an advantage. If the situation his brother was in with his own heartmate wasn’t a good enough example, linking himself to a mortal who would die and eventually be reborn without any memory of their soul bond sounded like torture. 

He would have to track John down every time he was re-born, introduce himself, explain their bond and watch him grow old and die over and over. Sherlock grimaced at the thought, there had to some way to ensure that John wouldn’t die. Sherlock wanted them to be together forever because he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to watch his heartmate pass away every eighty or so years.

The worse case scenarios flashed before Sherlock’s eyes. He might find John too early in his next life and John would see him as a mentor, or a brother or father figure. Even more unpleasant, Sherlock might find John too late and he's already tied himself to another Rahil. Watching his soulmate love another even for one lifetime would be akin to Sherlock cutting out his own heart.

Every time Sherlock got close to John when he decided this would be the moment he would introduce himself to John for the first time… He would hesitate, and hold back, waiting in the shadows or out of sight and the moment would pass. So Sherlock decided he had to find a way to make John immortal.

* * *

Moriarty was the most powerful Nahu in all three realms. He had acquired and claimed the most boons of any immortal being. If you wanted something that was beyond your own power, you’d pay a visit to the Spider and hope that you had something he wanted to trade. 

Sherlock had nothing of value to exchange for the knowledge he wanted. He had no boons he could give to Moriarty. Mycroft had already taken his wings and he didn’t know many rare spells or incantations he could teach to the Nahu. In short, Sherlock was trying his luck by approaching the Spider. He was not known for his compassion when it came to payment for his favours.

“Sherlock,” Moriarty hissed as he walked into the Nahu’s hideaway. Moriarty had lived on Vunahhil for the last few thousand centuries. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he’d returned to Nolmavu since he’d been cast out of Lamahya and lost the war along with all those Mazin that had fought by his side. Sherlock included. 

“What a delightful surprise!”

“Moriarty.” Sherlock greeted and bowed shallowly in respect. 

Moriarty’s grin exposed sharp, jagged teeth and skin that had turned a pale grey colour. The Spider wore his Curse like a badge of honour. His tattered, bat-like wings were immense stretching over his shoulders, almost touching the ceiling of his dwelling. Moriarty had clearly claimed many boons of strength from the Rahil he’d ensnared over the years, but none of it was enough to overcome the Curse. It never would be.

“You want something, don’t you Sherlock? Finally found something outside of your own misery and regrets? Or perhaps you want to return to your Palace? Hmm… No, that’s not right either.” The Nahu’s sharp nails clicked against the armrest of the chair he sat in. 

“I want to know how to give a Rahil immortality.”

_ To be continued... _

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @hiatustory's [November 'Soulmates' Challenge](https://hiatustory.tumblr.com/post/166668182278/novembers-theme-is-soulmates). A million thanks to my friends [@nobu-akuma](http://nobu-akuma.tumblr.com/) and [@musing-out-loud](https://musing-out-loud.tumblr.com/) for putting up with me and being my beta readers. This fic wouldn't exist without you. <3


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